


Something Person-Shaped

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Gen, Post-Nuclear War, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for a prompt: "Hannibal is a monster that haunts Will. Will lives his in his little house in horror of being attacked by Him. Also an atomic bomb almost destroyed the Earth causing nuclear pollution and strange things are happening to wild creatures."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Person-Shaped

The dogs whined with hunger. 

Will had been feeding them, but only just enough to keep them from starving. At the time that he’d stocked his cellar for an event such as the one that had occurred, he’d only had one dog. Now he had seven, and he had to ration carefully. 

He knew that any sane person would just shoot the dogs; they were a drain on resources, and the fact that all waste elimination must now take place indoors made them a health hazard as well, though Will made every effort to keep the situation under control. 

The truth was, if Will shot the dogs, he would lose his primary source of entertainment and emotional well-being. Playing with them and petting them took up much of his day; even the logistics of cleaning up after them was at least something to keep him occupied, keep his mind off of how grim thing were. 

But if he wanted to keep his dogs, he was going to have to find a way to feed them. He lacked many important details – he was still unable to pick up any radio broadcasts that might provide information about the location and fallout distribution of the blasts – but with the books and maps he had, he came up with a few possible scenarios, and with them picked a date by which time it would _probably_ be safe to go outside long enough to fish. The river flowed fast and it flowed toward DC (which he knew had been attacked), so the fish might well be edible. At this point, if they looked remotely healthy, Will would feed his dogs and himself without hesitation. 

When the date that he had picked arrived, the dogs were sorely underfed, and lacked the energy to play. Will left them in the cellar, and went up to the main floor to make his preparations for leaving. Against all reason, he was looking forward to going outside. He hadn’t seen the sun in a long time – not since he’d seen the flash and made haste to seal all the windows with duct tape, and hang blankets and tarps over them. 

He hauled an empty garbage can up from the cellar with him, which he had set aside for the purpose of storing contaminated clothes. After going out, his clothes and fishing gear, including his waders, would be irradiated, but he only had the one pair. If he buried them, as was recommended, he wouldn’t have them for his next excursion. Keeping them in the garbage can was less than ideal, but he couldn’t keep the stuff in the house. 

He donned two layers of clothing, then his waders, plus gloves, goggles, and a particle mask. He unstuck the tape from the door, then picked up his fishing gear and his Geiger counter and headed out. He did not have a dosimeter, to tell him how much radiation he’d absorbed, but the Geiger counter at least told him that the levels were less than his worst-case calculations. The wind must have been blowing east that day. Still, he knew he had to limit his time. 

Once he was in the river and had begun his ritual – attaching the fly, casting the line – it was hard not to feel tranquil. The danger around him, threatening his life at this very moment, was invisible, odorless, and tasteless. Even with the goggles and mask as a reminder, he was soon immersed in the task at hand. He stood in the river until, he estimated, he had caught enough fish to give everyone a proper meal – he had no way to preserve any more than that, anyway. 

As he reeled in his line, he looked to the far bank, and caught sight of a figure in the trees. At first he thought it was a shadow, but when he took a second look, he saw a person – or at least, something person-shaped. It was tall, black as coal all over, and it bore an impressive set of antlers. 

Was this somebody’s idea of a joke? Did someone think it would be funny to dress up as some sort of nuclear mutant? Will refused to believe that. He was curious about it, whatever it was, but he could not let that get the better of him, not now, when every additional moment spent outside was hazardous. 

He waded away from the creature, to the near bank. He kept his eyes down, watching his footing as he came ashore. When he looked up again, the creature was standing right there next to him. 

Will took off running, not a moment’s thought between seeing what he saw and his flight from it. A burst of adrenaline made it easier for him to leap over fallen branches and tear through the brush with incredible speed, even while burdened with his gear and catch. 

Only when he reached his door did he look back, and then he saw nothing. There was nothing, no one, behind him, and no noise, save the wind in the trees. With shaking hands, he shucked the contaminated outer layers of his clothing, sealed them in the garbage can, and went inside. 

He dumped the fish in the sink, then returned to the door to re-seal and cover it. Down in the basement, his dogs barked. 

Will cooked the fish on the gas stove. It made him happy to see his dogs enjoying a meal that would fill their bellies, and as for himself, it was just nice to have something to eat besides MREs. But he did not forget about the creature outside. 

While the dogs napped, Will went upstairs. He peeled the duct tape and pulled the tarp away from the corner of one window, and had a look. The creature stood still as a statue at the edge of the woods. If it saw Will looking at it, it gave no indication. Will watched it for several minutes. Each time he blinked, he feared he would find it standing next to him. But it never moved. 

It was safer to stay in the cellar, where the soil provided better protection than wood and glass. Radiation absorption was cumulative; you didn’t metabolize it and start each day fresh. Will knew he should spend as little time as possible upstairs, especially if he planned to continue making fishing trips. But that night, he couldn’t sleep, and made crept upstairs twice to see if the creature was still there. It was. 

Will did manage to doze off early in the morning, and was awakened by the barking of a dog outside. He counted his pack, even though there was no way any of them could have escaped outside. All seven were present. Will grabbed his rifle and went upstairs. 

Peering through the exposed corner of the window, Will could no longer see the creature. Instead, in the gray down light, there was a pathetic-looking mutt limping in the driveway. Its fur had fallen out in clumps, and blood dribbled from its nose and mouth, spraying when it barked. Radiation sickness. The dog had clearly been wandering for weeks with no shelter. 

There was nothing he could do for the poor animal, except end its misery. He unstuck the tape from the sill, lifted the window just two inches, and stuck the barrel of the rifle out.


End file.
